


The Homonym of Shades

by R_Quarion



Series: The Catalogue of Frowns [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Eye Sex, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Quarion/pseuds/R_Quarion
Summary: Aziraphale quite likes the colours of Crowley's eyes. Shame he uses shades to hide those vivid shades.





	The Homonym of Shades

"Must you wear those while we are in private…?"  
The comment had appeared from seemingly nowhere.  
"Wear what?" Crowley didn't know to which article of clothing Aziraphale was alluding to. He gestured his hands to his abdomen and sarcastically scoffed, "my clothes? At least buy me dinner first, angel."  
"No-" Aziraphale scoffed, "no I mean the sunglasses."

Crowley frowned the kind of frown given when someone asked if a job is cancelled, do hitmen get a kill fee? To which Crowley would respond with something as downright as no! Just kill for the fun, not the money. That’s what demons should say, right? And to which Aziraphale would scoff and suggest that morality may need questioning. But regardless of the politics of how hitmen were financially supported, Crowley had other thoughts. Mainly, just _why_ the angel would ask such a thing.  
"For one thing, we are in public." Crowley reminded him, passing the angel some bread that he tossed into the river for the ducks. The bread traveled in spite of the wind, managing to oppose it by some miracle. Very convenient. "For another thing, I've been wearing these for the past, oh, I don't know, many centuries."  
"Not exactly a reason now, is it…?" Aziraphale asked, squinting against the sun. He looked over to Crowley, “and we may be in public but there is no one for at least five hundred fathoms.”   
The demon’s face froze for a second,   
“In all your angelic power you can detect the distance of human life forms but you measure them in _fathoms_ ?!”   
“What… can’t you _fathom_ the idea of it?” 

Crowley clenched his teeth in order to restrain his frustration. Especially when he saw how proud the angel was of himself. The smile was just as disgustingly sweet as honey. One of those gorgeous smiles that Crowley knew he should _hate_ as a demon. So he’d scowl in the general direction, as much as he hated to admit that he did in fact love honey. What he _didn’t_ love was homonyms. Words going by one pronunciation but different meanings. Air and heir. Rows and rose. Vein and vain. And, well, fathom and fathom. _No he could not fathom the idea that Aziraphale still referred to measurement in fathoms._ Well, he could, he just didn’t _want_ to. It was more-so a matter of principle then a preference within the measurement system. 

However said systems had nothing to do with the debacle at hand.

“Does being in public with no people make it in private?” Crowley asked, automatically regretting it. Aziraphale had a certain expression for _wonder._ That’s what angels did, right? Produce wonder and intrigue into the world, make humans consider the genuineness of miracles. Even if not, Aziraphale had a very specific face for such an emotion. His brows would furrow and his eyes would narrow, Little crinkles would form around his eyes that gazed with such strength that Crowley wanted to know what thoughts were whirling behind those eyes. The angel would firmly press his lips together and-- _well_ then Crowley’s thoughts went elsewhere besides the definitions and homonyms of the English language.   
“Well, by definition---”   
“Spare me the recount, angel.” Crowley shifted where he sat. The bench was the one they usually found themselves on. After very little time, Crowley always found himself having to readjust. How Aziraphale sat there with such professional grace with his elegantly manicured hands resting softly in his lap was a wonder to Crowley. There was that word again. _Wonder_ . Damn the angel and damn the English language.   
“You did ask, Crowley…” Aziraphale reminded him with a raise of his eyebrows,   
“Mmmm did I, can't recall?”

  
The angel and the demon fell into their comfortable silence. The sound of leaves rustling against the wind softly fading into the sounds of birds and running water. Said wind sounding like whispers of small, unintelligible messages. Crowley couldn’t _actually_ hear Aziraphale think but it was obvious he was doing it. The way his plump thumbs shifted back and forth, over and over one another until he finally said,   
“I do believe you are avoiding my initial request.”   
“Was it a request as much as it was a general inquiry, my dear?” Crowley’s scowl had returned as he shifted to look at Aziraphale directly. His hand brushing the angel’s thigh as he lowered it to rest on the bench in between them. “You wondered if I must. I said I must.”   
“But, consider this…”

Slowly, without much hesitation, Aziraphale lifted his hands to cup Crowley’s cheeks. He hoped that the angel had not noticed the sudden simmering heat at his cheeks. The demon had to resist the urge to nuzzle those hands. The scowl didn’t seem to change anything either. God save the skip his heart took over a beat or two as the angel slowly took those glasses from his eyes.

“Oh, my...” Aziraphale’s words were nothing more than a whisper amongst those chattering winds. Crowley almost instantly looked _anywhere_ else. The lake itself had suddenly become very interesting. The way the water… _moved…?_ Sniffing causally, Crowley looked upwards and then around until the angel had enough. Taking Crowley’s face once more he whispered the softest, “look at me, darling.” And so, the demon did.

It was very nearly impossible for Crowley to deny his angel anything much. Aziraphale could get a lot with one of those honey smiles or soft whispers. No matter the potential repercussions. Crowley did look up into the angel’s eye. The emotion he found in them was unreadable.

“The shades…” trying to avoid the sunlight, Crowley muttered,  
“Are in your hand, yes--:   
“No, I mean, the shades of your eyes.” Aziraphale chuckled lightly at the damned homonyms. As he put it together, Crowley tenderly bit down on his bottom lip.”They’re so gorgeous in the sunlight. Just the most… _spectacular_ of shades.”   
“F-for a second I thought you were going to say scrumptious.” Crowley joked, scrunching his nose up briefly in an attempt to seem casual. In truth, his entire self was shaking lightly. Who could blame him with the palm of an angel gently cupping his cheek.   
“No... that's you, not your eyes.” The burning in Crowley’s cheeks flared when Aziraphale said that. Words that were soft and honest yet someone set fire to Crowley.   
“Angel, I--” No, there were no words that Crowley had to say. 

When it came to the shades hidden behind the shades, Aziraphale found absolutely nothing that compared to Crowley’s eyes. Warning signs, maybe. Those bright yellow signs that said _beware- danger!_ However Crowley’s eyes were not unfamiliar enough to need warning. Maybe their beauty was dangerous. Irises made entirely of gold. There had to be a _better_ word than gold. Gold didn’t capture the pure gleam they had nor the glow they emitted. Nor butterscotch or honey. The colour of dandelion fit but the flowers themselves did not match the strength of those eyes. The closest he came to a match was the Tuscan sun if it were to be set ablaze and it’s embers streaked in vivid flecks against the yellow. Eyes of watercolours or oil pastels, rich and vibrant. Pure art.

“Citrine.” Aziraphale finally whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair away from Crowley’s eyes.  
“Pardon?” Satan- God- oh _someone_ give Crowley strength.   
“Your eyes, my dear…” The words were _so_ soft and even more honest. “They’re like citrine, the gemstone, or maybe like the topaz. Although I imagine, no gemstone in the world could ever be nearly a fraction as gorgeous as you…”   
Time, as they both knew, moved at a single speed. That speed was dictated by human values of increments such as seconds, minutes, hours and so on. But despite knowing this, Crowley felt as if time was slowing. With the angel brushing his thumb over Crowley’s lower lip, his hands cupping the demon’s face, there was just so much to _feel_ . Part of Crowley wanted to make a joke and dip his head out of the angel’s hands. The majority of Crolwey did not want to leave in any sense of the word. Not when their lips met, _especially_ not when their lips met.

Crowley let out a soft whine, letting Aziraphale take the lead with this one. The angel was so soft and delicate yet so _sure_ of what he was doing. Crowley _shouldn’t_ have been nearly as surprised as he was. They had been together since the start and it would only be a lie to suggest that Crowley hadn’t considered situations like this one. Who could really blame him, with the angel being _exactly_ how he was. A smile like the sunrise. A laugh of, _well_ , an angel. Crowley’s own lips parted slowly as he silently told the angel that he wanted to be lead. And Azirphale did just that, running his hand down Crowley’s neck to his chest and slowly deepening that kiss.   
“I didn’t e-even have to--” Crowley spoke murmured words through clashing lips, “tempt you…”   
“Your eyes--- do all the tempting--- for you, my dear.” Aziraphale let out the smallest of gasps as Crowley moved his hand to rest on Aziraphale’s thighs and squeeze lightly. A little, pleased moan escaped the angel’s parted lips. “I’ve always been ridiculously attracted to citrine…”  
“Is that so…?” Crowley hummed, his facade at remaining in posture was fading. Aziraphale had ruined him.  
“Mhmm, oh!” The angel shot up quickly, pulling away from the demon. “Oh a human has placed foot within the five hundred fathoms.”   
Crowley pulled the angel closer, brushing their lips together.   
“We best be inconspicuous then, don’t we…?”


End file.
